


Trust

by isadora



Category: Homeland
Genre: Blindfolds, Light Bondage, PWP, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isadora/pseuds/isadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...After all, what's more important than trust between co-workers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> A PWP that popped into my head while brainstorming for 'The Thing on the Other Side of the Fine Line to Hate' and wouldn't get out...

It’s a hot day in the middle of July when Saul calls his analysts down to the basement and announces they’re going to be doing a team-building exercise day. The news is not greeted with huge cheer; it’s busy, everyone has more to be doing, and the basement is hot and stuffy at the best of times let alone when it’s packed out with irate workers.

Quinn leans against the wall, arms folded, and enjoys watching Carrie’s hissy fit. She starts out reasonable, outlining the reasons she doesn’t need to be there, and becomes progressively more aggravated the more Saul refuses to back down. Fuming, high points of colour on her cheeks, she is forced to participate. Quinn’s amusement turns sour when he realises that she’s making a beeline for him as a partner; dealing with a pissed-off Carrie is not what he needs right now.

They start off simple. One person standing behind the other, catching your partner as they fall backwards. Carrie outright refuses to go first ad then is so busy scowling at Saul that she doesn’t catch Quinn when he drops. His pride is less bruised than his backside but it’s a close run thing and he can feel his mood souring by the moment. He glares at her and she shrugs as if to say ‘you can’t blame me’.

 

“Don’t make me blindfold and gag you to get through this” he says darkly under his breath and Carrie freezes. It’s an extreme reaction to a clearly facetious comment which gives him pause for thought, but her face is unreadable and the next second she’s turned around with a scoff under her breath. 

“Like you could” she mocks, her face schooled into a more even expression, and he grins unkindly.

“You wouldn’t even see me coming” he says, so softly nobody but her could see it, and this time there’s no missing the flush that rises up her chest (she’s wearing a shirt and he’s only human; of course he’s looking). Definitely arousal then; although he’s pretty sure she’d deny it.

 

His mood has perked significantly and there’s no better way of describing it than the predatory side of him rearing its head. He’s got no idea what’s going on with her but suddenly her sulk has stopped and she’s behaving herself, and it makes him want to grab her and make her fight. 

At the end of the seminar he hangs back, waiting for the others to leave. When Carrie makes a move towards the exit he catches her wrist in an iron grip and she freezes immediately. Saul frowns at them and Quinn smiles innocently.

“We’re going to redo some of the exercises” he says, slowly releasing her. To his gratification, she doesn’t pull away. Nor does she make eye contact with him. “A few of them didn’t go so well.”

“I noticed” says Saul drily, either missing or ignoring the tension. “Lock up when you’re done.”

He tosses the keys at Quinn and leaves; as soon as he has Carrie rounds on him.

“What’re you doing?”

“We work together frequently” he says impassively. “It makes sense to get used to this stuff. I need to be able to trust you.”

“You can trust me. Just not with bullshit like this.”

Deep down he’s inclined to agree with her; they work together just fine in the field without needing these exercises, but damned if he admits to it.

“Do you trust me?”

She snorts and tosses her hair.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A pretty relevant one I’d say.”

It stings a little that she won’t answer it; then again he wouldn’t if he was hers. Trust is weakness, that’s the irony.

“Turn around.”

She frowns and takes a step back.

“No.”

“Carrie, turn around. It’s not a question.”

“Fuck you, Quinn.”

“Why so scared?”

Her face darkens even further.

“I’m not scared. I just have things to do.”

He’s fed up of this now, and grabs her by the wrists, pinning her against the wall not overly gently. She’s so slender he can hold both her wrists behind her back in one hand which is convenient; she swears a blue streak as he knots a tie around them, effectively pinning her.

“Are you going to make me gag you?”

Her response to that is to stamp down hard on his foot; his turn to swear now. She spins around in his split second of distraction and kicks his legs from under him, landing with her knee braced against the inside of his thigh, just touching the nerve hard enough to dissuade him from moving.

“This is building trust how exactly?” she asks, and he raises his hands in surrender. The second she lowers her guard he flips her and pulls her bound arms behind her back, twisting just enough to keep her still. Her breath catches; she stops struggling momentarily and he puts a hand on the back of her neck.

“Do you trust me?”

She swallows reflexively and then nods minutely. Not enough; he tugs up on her arms and she gasps, her joints burning.

“Carrie, answer the question. Do you trust me?”

Her voice is so quiet he can barely hear her.

“Yes.”

“Good” he says, and helps her to her feet. She holds her hands out to be untied but he shakes his head.

“Not yet.”

Several emotions flit across her face; confusion, irritation, want, frustration; she’s not usually so easy to read and he wonders if it’s deliberate or whether he’s really managed to chip away at her self control.

“What, then?”

“Stay where you are” he says. “Close your eyes.”

“No.”

He sighs and moves around behind her. She tenses as he ties the blindfold around her eyes; the tension is thick in the room now.

“Trust me” he says, his voice low. “Fall. I’ll catch you.”

Sarcastic responses flit through her mind. There’s every chance he’s being a dick and repaying her for dropping him earlier. She’s utterly vulnerable; can’t see anything, can’t use her hands to catch herself. She doesn’t even know which way she’s facing any more. She knows he’s close; can smell his cologne and almost feel the warmth radiating from him; but doesn’t know exactly where he’s standing.

“Quinn?”

“I promise I’ll catch you.”

She takes a breath in, holds it a moment, breathes out and lets herself drop backwards. The fall seems to last a lifetime; her body screams to throw out her arms and save herself, and she’s so far back she thinks he must have stepped back to let her fall.

No, she doesn’t. She trusts him. And before the thought has finished crossing her mind, his arms are around her waist and he’s supporting her back upright.

“See?” he says, and he’s so close now that she can feel his breath on the back of her neck. “I won’t let you go.”

She’s been fighting the arousal all afternoon, ever since his comment about gagging her, and she’s exhausted with him. His hands are still on her waist; she leans back so that she’s resting against his chest, her tied hands sliding against the front of his trousers.

He shifts fractionally behind her and she feels the ghost of his lips on her neck, drifting down the carotid artery to her shoulder. When he suddenly bites down hard she can’t stop the noise that escapes, somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

A hand trails across the small of her back, goosebumps springing up in its wake. He moves around to face her, hand splayed over her hip.

“Quinn” she breathes, and honest to god she doesn’t know if it’s a plea or a question or...

His mouth catches hers, hard and insistent. His hands come up to grip her shoulders, just shy of painful, and as he pushes her backwards she feels the wall behind her. The kiss is filthy, messy, only barely short of obscene; he grinds against her hard and runs a hand down her body, catching her behind the knee and hooking her leg over his hip.

“Fuck, Carrie” he groans, and she knows his self control is as shot as hers. She arches towards him, utterly blind, seeking out his mouth again and he chuckles from a step back, resting his finger against her lips. Stung, she goes to bite and he pulls back.

“Easy, tiger” he breathes, and she feels his fingers against her shirt, the tug of buttons being undone, the shift of fabric against her skin. She feels more vulnerable stood there, tied and blindfolded and half naked with her nipples hardening under his gaze, than she can remember.

“Gorgeous” he says, so quietly she’s not sure she even heard it, and then his lips are on her collarbone, soft, slow, moving down to her breast, ribcage, hip. Her pulse flutters; she can feel her breathing hitch with every contact. There’s a rustle of cloth; she can’t identify it; and then hands on her hip, sliding down the inside of her leg, so close to where she wants them.

He lifts her left foot up and slides off her shoe, then the right, and then undoes her trousers and slides them down. His thumb traces circles on her instep, just shy of tickling her.

She whimpers when his mouth grazes the inside of her thigh; there are fingers wrapped around her calf; her brain can’t keep up with it.

The fingers around her calf slide up and tug at her knee; she lifts obediently and finds it slung over his shoulder as he kneels on the floor. He kisses her naval and slides a finger inside her, slides his lips left to touch her hipbone, down to her thigh.

Then his finger hooks inside her and she feels her eyes roll back. Hot breath on her clit and she’s almost hyperventilating. He leans forward deliberately and flicks his tongue out, twisting his finger, sliding a second in. 

Methodically he adds another one and she tightens around him, unable to stop the whimper that escapes. He flicks his tongue, catches her clit, sucks lightly. It’s slow and intimate and heartbreakingly good; if he wasn’t supporting her weight she’d fall. Her heart feels like it’s about to burst out of her chest and she has to bite down hard on her lip to keep from making a noise.

He looks up and pauses for a moment to admire the view. She’s flushed, head tossed to one side, teeth biting down on her lower lip, arms still straining against the ties. 

“Relax” he orders, well aware of the vibration it creates.

Unable to see, unable to move, she tips her head back and doesn’t try to hide her pleasure any more. It suddenly doesn’t matter to her if he’s hard or not; whether it’s just a power play; doesn’t matter if her moans and whimpers turn him on or irritate him; without being able to see she doesn’t feel the anxiety, and her orgasm builds from the base of her spine, swelling until she’s clenched so tight around his fingers she can barely breath and then releasing with a rush of endorphins. Quinn strokes her hip gently as she comes down, breathing ragged, and then straightens to kiss her, catching her as she wobbles.

“Ok?”

She can taste herself on his tongue; it might bother her but it doesn’t. She kisses him, long and langorous and shifts forward so she can feel him against her, rock hard. His breathing hitches as she rolls her hip against his erection and he lets go of her. There’s a zip and a rustle of fabric; she wants to grasp him, feel him, hold him in her mouth. The loss of power in this situation confounds her senses though; nothing she can do.

He moves around behind her, hands on her shoulders pressing down lightly and she takes the hint, dropping to her knees and then tipping forward so she’s balanced on her shoulders. It’s neither smooth nor elegant and she knows she’ll feel it the next day, but he runs a hand down her back approvingly and presses his lips to her hip again, stroking one warm hand down her spine, from the top of her neck to her upper thigh, mapping out every inch of skin under his fingers.

There’s a pause, then two fingers sliding in, twisting, withdrawing and then he pushes in. He’s thicker than she anticipated; longer too; she loses her breath for a second. Once he’s fully in he pauses a second, hips flush against her backside.

It feels incredible. It’s been too long. She’s wanted this for too long; this loss of autonomy, the feeling of being controlled.

He starts at a slow pace, hands still exploring her; mostly sliding over her back and ribcage, occasionally glancing over a nipple or tangling in her hair. She loves this position; the pain in her shoulders is welcome counterpoint to the pleasure building again. He starts to speed up and she reflexively clenches around him when he thrusts, rewarded with a strangled groan. In retaliation he reaches around and brushes his thumb over her clit, biting down hard on her neck.

Something snaps inside her then and she arches her back.

“Quinn, please...fuck me...harder...”

He swears under his breath, pauses, and slams into her so hard she slides forward. The pace is unrelenting and she knows she’ll be sore from head to toe. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. She feels a freedom she hasn’t felt for years...forever. A keening noise escapes her; he sucks over the bite on her shoulder, tongue flicking out again, and she’s losing control again.

“Oh god...fuck...Quinn”

“Carrie” he breathes, almost reverently, not letting up the pace, “Carrie, come for me”

She’s never been able to come on command before but if there’s anything today has shown her it’s that there’s a first time for everything and she gasps, clenching hard around him as her second orgasm tears through her. Quinn slams his hips forwards a few more times, hand clenched so hard around her hip she thinks it’ll leave bruises, and then freezes, shudders and lets out a strangled groan.

“Fuuuuuck” he breathes, and she feels him come inside her. It seems to last for hours and seconds at the same time; his breath is rough and short behind her and she feels a thrill of excitement at having made him lose control as well.

Too soon, he pulls out. She winces, sore already, and then again as he wipes her with a tissue he’s magicked up from somewhere.

“Carrie” he breathes, and there’s something she can’t identify in his voice; something she hasn’t heard before.

He helps her up and she dimly registers that she’s shaking, her arms cramping. She hadn’t even noticed.

“Will you untie me?” she asks and her voice isn’t as steady as she’d like. 

“Not yet” he says, and she doesn’t argue. She likes this. If she doesn’t have to look at him the moment isn’t broken. They don’t have to go back to professionalism and she doesn’t have to analyse the thought that this might not have been a huge mistake.

 

He brushes a thumb over her neck; it’s sore and she wonders if he broke the skin.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head mutely; her hands won’t stop shaking now and she’s becoming aware of how cold it is. At the same time so does he clearly; he wraps his arms around her so her head is touching his chest and rubs lightly on her arms.

“I don’t want to untie you” he breathes, and he sounds as on the edge as she feels, “I don’t want you tell me I crossed the line”

She hasn’t anticipated that insecurity and is momentarily taken aback.

“I don’t want you to judge me” she replies, shifting forward fractionally. “I don’t usually do this”.

She means the loss of control of course; they both know she’s more than happy to engage in casual sex.

“Me neither” he says with a hint of a smile in his voice, “I’m glad we did though.”

They sit in silence, holding each other, until her heart rate has returned to normal, lost in their own thoughts.

“Would you do it again?” she asks. It’s easier to be vulnerable when you can’t see who you’re talking to.

He sighs, deep and heavy, and she reconsiders the thought that it might be easier. Rejection is going to sting whatever form it takes.

“Carrie...I’m not 20 any more. I’ll need at least ten minutes before I can do that again.”

He surprises a laugh out of her at that, and leans down to kiss her again. Blindfolded, it takes her a moment to respond.

“Quinn...”

He moves away and sh feels him behind her again, working on the ties on her wrists. The relief when they’re free is bordering on painful and she’s grateful for him rubbing her hands to get the blood flowing again.

“I bruised you” he says, and sounds genuinely worried which makes her laugh again.  
“I’m pretty sure I’ll live” she says drily, “Worse things happen in the field than bruised wrists”

He shrugs one shoulder in agreement and bends to kiss her shoulder again as she flexes her arms. She’s comfortable naked and he doesn’t much want to put clothes back on her but it’s getting cool now the building is closed for the night. 

They hesitate longer; neither willing to move away; neither wanting to break the moment. Finally he smoothes her hair back and goes to loosen the blindfold. As he does, her hands come up and catch his, stopping hers. When he looks down she’s biting her lip.

“Quinn...I really do trust you” she says. “Even if I don’t always act like it.”

There’s a long pause; he leaves his hand in her hair and she leans into the touch.

“I know” he says simply, and pulls away. He could stay like this all night if it wasn’t such a phenomenally bad idea. He’s already overstepped the line by about a mile. 

“No regrets” she whispers as his hands work on the blindfold, and he doesn’t know if it’s a question, a statement or an order. Her eyes remain closed when he lets the cloth slide to the floor and he takes a moment to appreciate her, kneeling on the floor, utterly naked and beautiful.

You’re an idiot, Peter, he thinks to himself. 

She opens her eyes then, and he has to look away.

“I crossed the line, Carrie”

“We crossed it together” she says, and there’s a tone of desperation in her voice. She doesn’t want him to walk away, he realises. She trusted him and now he’s going to walk away.

He grapples for control, looks at her again, loses it.

“I can’t regret this” he breathes, pained, and she slides closer, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“I have a tendency to learn slowly” she says calmly, against his mouth, “And a lot of trust issues. You can help with that, right?”

His self control flees and he tilts his head, pulling her into a kiss, arms wrapping around her shoulders.

“This could be a massive mistake” he mumbles, but his resolve is broken and she knows it.

They tumble back onto the floor and her mouth is hot and hungry against his, and then he just stops thinking.

After all, what’s more important than trust between co-workers?

**** end ****


End file.
